RAGE!!!! Just deleted everything as I was about to post. Frustration.......
Let me try again. Ok here goes :-)
This will be my last update I imagine, as from tomorrow people much wiser than me will hopefully be using this blog for what it is meant to be used for - telling the tale of Love for Life in Uganda this summer. I apologise for high jacking it, as well as rambling on for extended periods! I have never blogged before, maybe I will do it in the future, who knows, though I fear I have a tendancy to ramble and speel (as was apparant!!!). Regardless, from now on you will be hearing from others on the trip.
Just killed a misquito.
Anyway, I have been in Kampala from Friday 3rd July, which also marked the parting of the ways, with Luke and Mark remaining to work on in Rwanda and DRC, and Chris leaving to serve in Romania with a team from his church. My task has been researching for my dissertation - 'Does faith help or hinder HIV/AIDS prevention? - Uganda - A Case-Study'.
I have interviewed and spoken to a lot of very interesting people, from WHO representatives, the Muslim co-ordinator of HIV/AIDS policy, Medsin San Frontiers workers and youth workers involved in HIV/AIDS prevention. Still hoping to meet World Bank, Family Planning and UNAIDS by end of week - we shall see. People have been so good about agreeing to talk to me, and I have been very fortunate.
Being by myself here, I have had lots of random adventures. Having to make my own way round Kampala, I have been using the motorbikes or boda bodas, where you hitch a ride on the back of said bike for a small fee. Business oppurtunity for Belfast? Anyway, I have learnt a lot of things from these daily dances with death, for example, never get on a motorbike that has no wing mirrors or speedometer. Especially when the driver seems to get a twisted satisfaction of playing chicken with buses (and fortunately winning). Also never let a driver take you on 'shortcuts' down 'roads' that have bumps that make you wonder if you are ever going to be able to sit down again!
Biggest lesson? Don't be fooled by helmets. I approached a driver with a helmet, thinking that surely this guy is a pro? Well in a way he was. The helmet seemed to give him the incentive to attempt speeds I did not know, nor wanted to know, were possible for motorbikes. Fortunately his attempt at actually becoming airbourne failed and I got back to Fields of Life where I am staying in at least a semblance of one piece!
One thing to be said for this all is your prayer life improves immensely. When you are staring at the bonnet of an incoming car your prayers become much more serious and desperate!!!!!
Team Love for Life arrives tomorrow, and I am looking forward to seeing everyone. It has been good here, but as I have been on my own I have not really had a chance to talk to anyone except those I have been interviewing, so after a week of intense discussion of HIV/AIDS prevention, abstinence, condoms, sero-status and the role of faith in HIV/AIDS prevention, I will be glad to talk about other things!
I am especially looking forward to seeing my family, and I'm not going to deny I have missed them. It has been a while and it will be good to see all of them again. I am gutted Charlene is not going to be well enough to come, but I know that she will get another chance, and before very long she will be in Uganda again, and the poor country won't know what hit it! Shes a legend, and I am looking forward to seeing her when I get home. Continue to pray for her, especially as it must be hard for her not seeing me for so long (messing Charlene :-) ).
In terms of the interviews I made the mistake of bringing only 6 thirty minute tapes, and as some of the interviews have been close to an hour, I have been operating like a machine, trying to transcribe fast enough to keep going with the interviews. Bad call of mine with that one!
So now you are up to date. As for what has gone before, my head is still all over the place in regards to Rwanda and the Congo (see previous posts). I still trying to think through everything.
I guess one thing I am learning is that God is good. And He is at work, even when I refuse to see it or acknowledge Him. He knows what He is doing, even when everything looks a broken mess to us.
When I look at situations that appear desolate and hopeless I confess I find it hard to see. But one thing I do know is that our God is a God who heals, and who delights in taking broken lives and broken situations, and making a beautiful new creation. Sometimes the most beautiful things have to be broken first.
I am also acutely aware that we are not the answer - God is. Being honest, how could we ever heal a heart, restore a relationship, work in a situation or help a community? But God does. He is already ministering in these situations long before we appear on the scene, but by His Grace, He desires to use us.
I am aware I am rambling and repeating obvious truths, so I will say what I want to say and ask you to pray, pray for the people like Jaqueline, Davos, Zacchaeus and others I have mentioned before in previous posts.
We have to pray about such things. For one thing it can put things into perspective. I am fully aware that too much of my time I spend looking inwardly and getting down about things that really don't matter in the grand scheme of things. And my prayers can become so self-absorbed. But the world is bigger than the altar of 'I', and by praying for people and situations like this we can remember that, and gather some proper perspective, as well as bein to see things as He does. We all have knowledge of people and situations, whether it is a friend who feels overwhelmed and lost, a starving child in Africa, a Romanian driven out of their home or a co-worker who does not yet know Him, and by praying for them we can begin to look towards the things that matter. The change in our lives can begin even in what our hearts look at when we pray.
Also, how can we honestly say we love our brothers and sisters as we love ourselves, if we do not pray for them? I damn myself with many of these words, but I believe that there are sometimes certain things that are true regardless of our feeble attempts at living them.
God is big. And God is good. Even though I struggle and have struggled over the last month at times to see His Hand at work, it remains true that His Justice will flow like rivers, His Mercy will minister to the nations, His Love will light up the world and at His Name every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is LORD. All in His time, but He is at work. It will come to pass.
I have so much to learn. I need to trust Him like many of the people I have met do. And I need to remember most of all this story is not about me. God is working, and perhaps we have to wake up, open our eyes, cast off our bedclothes and ask and look to see what He is doing already, draw alongside Him and prepare to become the supporting characters in His Story. And that is when we come alive.
So I guess I am just asking for prayer. For prayer for the situations that have been laid on our hearts or minds. Even when we don't feel like praying for them.
So that is me, I bid you adiou (is that how it is spelt?). What shall follow is the story of Love for Life this summer (as long as someone actually is going to do the writing??!!). Thank you for your prayers, you are legends. Will see ye soon!
To finish, a quote from Philip Yancey, "God is already everywhere, no matter how dark the situation, how dark the life or how dark the path. Our job is simply to make Him more visible wherever and whenever we go." To serve Him right where we are, in everything we do, making the invisible visible and showing His Light in the darkness. It will come to pass.
Showing posts with label Rwanda. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rwanda. Show all posts
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Monday, 29 June 2009
Of Co-operatives and Churches.....
Ok thoughts shall speel....
I have been visiting many co-operatives over the last few weeks here in Rwanda and have been challanged and humbled many times over. I will readily confess my initial nervousness when visiting these co-operatives, not knowing what to expect or what we would be doing. We have visited several and have interviewed people, joked with kids, picked aubergines and prayed with those we have met. It has been eye-opening.
For me the prayer has been the most immense. It is extremly humbling for all of us to be asked to pray for individuals and groups we have met, as in my eyes at least, their faith, hope and love far outshines my own shallowness. But then again, I have come to learn that that very idea is turning the focus again back on ourselves. We serve a great God and all approach Him on exactly the same way - as sinners saved by the Great High Priest whose name is Love. This story has never been about us, it is all His Story. It has been a privlege to pray with these people, and has been an encouragement for all involved. As always I feel we learn way more than we could ever ever give.
As for the co-operatives themselves, often the government here will refuse to let certain areas of land be cultivated by individuals, instead letting groups apply to do certain activities there. And so the co-operatives come into play. The group we have been working for, Coeur Joyeux, will supply initial capital to get the projects off the ground, and then the groups will work together doing whatever activities they have applied to do.
The range is quite impressive. One group we visited cultivated potatoes (we were practically at home!), another built ponds where they grew fish. One grew a paper crop, another had goats, while another taught its members to sow and make clothes to be sold at the market. Several kept rabbits to be sold for food to the hotels in the area.
And the work done is amazing. One group we met were made up of people who were all HIV-positive. Another was made up of widows from the genocide. All were close-knit communities working together for the good of all, not just themselves. Many of the individuals we met were far from the city where the wealth and aid does not filter along to, and talked of how before the co-operative they had little hope, and felt alone and abandoned, often having lost members of their family to the genocide, disease or the passage of time. When we met them things were different.
I am struck afresh with how Biblical it all sounds. The communites were like families, with the individuals serving and loving each other, carrying each others burdens and caring for those who needed it most. By themselves they could not have done the work we saw. It reminds me in some ways at least of what I read of the early Acts church. Perhaps something we in the highly individualistic West have lost?
All is of course not rosy (is it ever?). One group we met were building a bakery but did not yet have the nescessary funds. They were destitute and their stories would have shattered anyone's heart. Many were genocide survivers, and without the money to start the work of the co-operative they were still desperately poor and in a dire situation.
But this tragedy still held hope. If they can get the funds to finish the building process an entire community of 45 people will be able to supply for themselves and raise the money to pay for their kid's education, to expand and diversify the crops they grow and build and improve their local communities. All things we most certainly take for granted and would most likely curse the name of our Maker if we were ever forced to do without.
Each story is both tragic and infused with the grace of God. One girl from this co-operative, Olive, told us of how she lay on the floor of her home in 1994 (when she would have been 5 or 6 years old) and listened as men outside discussed whether to raid and kill everyone in the house now or wait until later, as they wanted homes to destroy later on that evening. This girl's story can be told as they chose to passover the house for now. She ran. Her family experienced horrendous hardships. During the genocide her mother was raped by 7 men in the one night, from which she derived HIV.
I know not what to say. Instinctively when hearing of such things our hearts break. As they were created to. And if I'm honest I lash out at God in anger, asking how He dares to let such things occur to His children, to those He claims to love. But I have so so much to learn. I realise that God loves and aches for these people more than I ever could. He mourns and detests the actions of mindless hate, as well as the apathy and blindness we in the West often choose to wallow in, often by default. I am humbled by the faith that people like Olive and her mother show, and I am ashamed when I listen to them sing to us of God's provision and love. They know Him more than I have yet dreamt.
Olive speaks of how the community she is now a part of is like her family, both for her, her five younger brothers, and her mother. There she feels love and acceptance, and knows that when she struggles, there are those who will carry her. She thanks God for His grace and love. And in that moment, in that community, I catch a glimpse of the Church Jesus lived, suffered, died and rose again for.
God is sovereign. I will never claim to understand Him or His ways. I can't begin to answer why such dispicable atrocities occured. But I do know one thing. God loves these people more than we ever could. And He knows what it means to watch those He loves suffer undeservedly at the hands of cruel men. He watched His Son tortured and murdered in one of the most horrendous ways imagineable. He knows their pain, and for each of us, no matter where we are, we are not alone, even in the darkest times.
The co-operatives showed me hope. They showed love to each other and provided oppurtunites they could not have had alone. Again we have much to learn from these 'families', these 'churches'.
I have gone on too long. What I have monologued was not what I intended. I meant to talk of how the models of co-operatives work and empower people, and to encourage us to perhaps seek out co-operatives we could pray for and provide the initial capital for. But tales tell themselves and I have ended up somewhere completely different. As my time in the internet cafe runs out I ask again for prayer for these groups. We serve the same God of miracles our brothers and sisters trust and praise for His love and provision. Maybe we need to again seek Him and His Face so that our faith isn't dependant on our fragile circumstances.
But most of all we need to pray for our brothers and sisters. We have much to learn of service, community, selflessness and love from these groups. In the co-operatives when an individual suffers, the whole group suffers. Equally when our brothers and sisters suffer, either in Africa, S. America, Iraq, Iran, China or even just in little Norn Iron (perhaps cast out of their Belfast homes by racists, or sleeping without a home in a bus shelter, or struggling to make ends meet for their family), we all should suffer. We are one body. And we are not alone. So how should we love?
I have been visiting many co-operatives over the last few weeks here in Rwanda and have been challanged and humbled many times over. I will readily confess my initial nervousness when visiting these co-operatives, not knowing what to expect or what we would be doing. We have visited several and have interviewed people, joked with kids, picked aubergines and prayed with those we have met. It has been eye-opening.
For me the prayer has been the most immense. It is extremly humbling for all of us to be asked to pray for individuals and groups we have met, as in my eyes at least, their faith, hope and love far outshines my own shallowness. But then again, I have come to learn that that very idea is turning the focus again back on ourselves. We serve a great God and all approach Him on exactly the same way - as sinners saved by the Great High Priest whose name is Love. This story has never been about us, it is all His Story. It has been a privlege to pray with these people, and has been an encouragement for all involved. As always I feel we learn way more than we could ever ever give.
As for the co-operatives themselves, often the government here will refuse to let certain areas of land be cultivated by individuals, instead letting groups apply to do certain activities there. And so the co-operatives come into play. The group we have been working for, Coeur Joyeux, will supply initial capital to get the projects off the ground, and then the groups will work together doing whatever activities they have applied to do.
The range is quite impressive. One group we visited cultivated potatoes (we were practically at home!), another built ponds where they grew fish. One grew a paper crop, another had goats, while another taught its members to sow and make clothes to be sold at the market. Several kept rabbits to be sold for food to the hotels in the area.
And the work done is amazing. One group we met were made up of people who were all HIV-positive. Another was made up of widows from the genocide. All were close-knit communities working together for the good of all, not just themselves. Many of the individuals we met were far from the city where the wealth and aid does not filter along to, and talked of how before the co-operative they had little hope, and felt alone and abandoned, often having lost members of their family to the genocide, disease or the passage of time. When we met them things were different.
I am struck afresh with how Biblical it all sounds. The communites were like families, with the individuals serving and loving each other, carrying each others burdens and caring for those who needed it most. By themselves they could not have done the work we saw. It reminds me in some ways at least of what I read of the early Acts church. Perhaps something we in the highly individualistic West have lost?
All is of course not rosy (is it ever?). One group we met were building a bakery but did not yet have the nescessary funds. They were destitute and their stories would have shattered anyone's heart. Many were genocide survivers, and without the money to start the work of the co-operative they were still desperately poor and in a dire situation.
But this tragedy still held hope. If they can get the funds to finish the building process an entire community of 45 people will be able to supply for themselves and raise the money to pay for their kid's education, to expand and diversify the crops they grow and build and improve their local communities. All things we most certainly take for granted and would most likely curse the name of our Maker if we were ever forced to do without.
Each story is both tragic and infused with the grace of God. One girl from this co-operative, Olive, told us of how she lay on the floor of her home in 1994 (when she would have been 5 or 6 years old) and listened as men outside discussed whether to raid and kill everyone in the house now or wait until later, as they wanted homes to destroy later on that evening. This girl's story can be told as they chose to passover the house for now. She ran. Her family experienced horrendous hardships. During the genocide her mother was raped by 7 men in the one night, from which she derived HIV.
I know not what to say. Instinctively when hearing of such things our hearts break. As they were created to. And if I'm honest I lash out at God in anger, asking how He dares to let such things occur to His children, to those He claims to love. But I have so so much to learn. I realise that God loves and aches for these people more than I ever could. He mourns and detests the actions of mindless hate, as well as the apathy and blindness we in the West often choose to wallow in, often by default. I am humbled by the faith that people like Olive and her mother show, and I am ashamed when I listen to them sing to us of God's provision and love. They know Him more than I have yet dreamt.
Olive speaks of how the community she is now a part of is like her family, both for her, her five younger brothers, and her mother. There she feels love and acceptance, and knows that when she struggles, there are those who will carry her. She thanks God for His grace and love. And in that moment, in that community, I catch a glimpse of the Church Jesus lived, suffered, died and rose again for.
God is sovereign. I will never claim to understand Him or His ways. I can't begin to answer why such dispicable atrocities occured. But I do know one thing. God loves these people more than we ever could. And He knows what it means to watch those He loves suffer undeservedly at the hands of cruel men. He watched His Son tortured and murdered in one of the most horrendous ways imagineable. He knows their pain, and for each of us, no matter where we are, we are not alone, even in the darkest times.
The co-operatives showed me hope. They showed love to each other and provided oppurtunites they could not have had alone. Again we have much to learn from these 'families', these 'churches'.
I have gone on too long. What I have monologued was not what I intended. I meant to talk of how the models of co-operatives work and empower people, and to encourage us to perhaps seek out co-operatives we could pray for and provide the initial capital for. But tales tell themselves and I have ended up somewhere completely different. As my time in the internet cafe runs out I ask again for prayer for these groups. We serve the same God of miracles our brothers and sisters trust and praise for His love and provision. Maybe we need to again seek Him and His Face so that our faith isn't dependant on our fragile circumstances.
But most of all we need to pray for our brothers and sisters. We have much to learn of service, community, selflessness and love from these groups. In the co-operatives when an individual suffers, the whole group suffers. Equally when our brothers and sisters suffer, either in Africa, S. America, Iraq, Iran, China or even just in little Norn Iron (perhaps cast out of their Belfast homes by racists, or sleeping without a home in a bus shelter, or struggling to make ends meet for their family), we all should suffer. We are one body. And we are not alone. So how should we love?
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Hope inspite of what we can see......
I am currently sitting in Kigali in Rwanda in a cheap internet cafe where the cost of an hour is 60p. Slightly different from back home!
Let me begin by apologising for the length. Anyone who know me is aware I was not given any gift of brevity by God. Or spelling for that matter. This week has been one of the hardest and most amazing I have ever had. I have seen despair and hope in the same moment and am still waiting for my thoughts to crystallise. I still need to think, but part of me needs to type to share the story of those we have met. Suffice to say this week we have been in and returned from the Congo, and I am currently typing amidst the malestrom of thoughts and emotions spiralling through my skull.
On Thursday we got a bus from Kigale to Gisenyi at the border with the Congo, and went to border control. The walk down was beautiful (Gisenyi is a stunning place, look it up on Google, the beauty at the cusp of Lake Kivu is stunning) and we exited Rwanda easily to stand on no-mans land between Rwanda and the Congo.
And here is where the problems began. A 90-day visa is meant to cost $35 but it was soon to become apparant that the Congo operates under very different rules from the rest of the world on this regard. After being shuffled into a small back office inside the border office and asked many questions in French (needless to say I had no idea what was going on!!!), the situation revealed itself to be slightly different from our plans. While I am still unsure what exactly was said by the border guards to us, we found that it would cost us $50 for 1n 8-day visa. You don't argue with guards holding several Kalashnikovs. Needless to say the extra money handed over never reached the register in the next room.
We now entered Goma, a city you may remember from the tail end of last year when the outside world finally roused itself from its apathy towards Africa to look to the Congo and see the tragic horrors that were unfolding there. To put it simply a rebel group led by Nkunda was moving and commiting many atrocities of mass rape and murder and was now outside Goma and was threatening to take the city. Many in the path of the rebels were fleeing to Goma and the situation remained precarious. Ultimately the news was to pass from our newspapers after we shook our heads and commented on how awful the situation was, before flicking to the business section to observe how our stocks had risen and fallen in the economic downturn (this is hardly a new point, but the criticism remains real even as I am aware I follow exactly the same patterns everyday I hear of tragedies in the world. Just because we all do it does not make it anymore acceptable).
The 'news' remained very real in Goma long after we had forgotten about such far-away matters. Ultimately Nkunda was captured by Rwandan forces but the situation remains volatile. It is not my place to even begin to comment on the Congo's history and situation, but suffice to say it is a potentially rich country the size of Western Europe, ripped and torn to shreds by cpuntless militias and war-lords. There is a reason it has been referred to as 'Africa's Broken Heart'. To put it simply, with many rebel groups active in the Congo as well as government forces who actively partipate in mass murder, torture and rape as legitimate weapons of war and control, the population in rural areas of the Congo, especially in the eastern provinces of late, have fled to the cities. Goma is one such city.
In Goma we grabbed a ride on a boda-boda (motorbike) and hung on for dear life while taking in everything around us. There was volcanic dust everywhere (a local volcano erupted and flowed through Goma in 2002), as well as soldiers striding through the streets. We saw no other white people (or 'musungos' for those in the know) there, bar the few UN peacekeeping patrols we saw. On the bike I heard a helicopter and looked up to see an attack helicopter flying over. What really struck me was that this did not even register with the people of the city, who went on with their everyday business, obviously used to living within the shadow of war.
Our destination? One of the many refugee camps at the edge of the city. As I type I simply don't know what to say, but I have promised some people I would blog, and I strongly feel that the story of those people that we met at this camp needs to be told.
The children were amazing. They were my first impression when we arrived, as they swarmed around us and jumped and danced with us, all trying to grap our hands. They were beautiful. Many of them had bellies swollen through malnutrition yet their smiles shone out and spoke to each of us more than a thousand words could (which seems to be what I am trying to do here). Their eyes had probably seen worse things than I could ever comprehend, yet still they smiled and put each of us to shame.
Because we were with the kids I was not aware of where our steps were taking us until I realised we were in the middle of the camp. It was horrific. Countless small tarpaulin tents spread over a comparatively small area, yet within this area dwelt 8000 refugees, with new numbers arriving everyday. The toilets were filled to capacity. There was no food. Many of the tents did not have coverings. And here is where people had to live.
We talked to many of the people dwelling there. The stories would have broken your heart. Most of the people were women, with their husbands butchered in the fighting. Many had lost several (one person all) of their children. One family we saw consisted of a mother with six children, the same as my own family. The vital difference is that unlike my family which lives in a two-storey house, all the members of this family lived and dwelt in a tarpaulin tent about a quarter of the size of any of the rooms in my own home. And they slept on rocks and straw.
One man called Zaccheaus whom we talked to had lost all of his family in the fighing, his wife and all of his children. He himself had been left for dead in the depths of the Congo. The scars he showed us on his back told their own story.
One woman named Davos could not talk of what had happened to her, and one of her daughters who clung to her had apparanlty not spoken in 6 months since she had seen things no human should ever have to see.
Another family did not have a cover for the sticks underneath which they lived. When it rained they shivered as the water poured over their bodies,a nd when the sun shone they baked int he heat.
The stories are as numerous as the individuals. I see no point in continuing. Put simply there was no food coming, and the kids often would rummage through the rubbish to find anything salvagable for a meal. They all wanted to return home but did not know when this would ever be possible. I felt despair gnawing at my soul, as I was fully aware there was nothing we could say to these people. What could we say? What hope could we bring? How could we pampered white people ever bring into situations we could never understand?
It appeared I was wrong. Inspite of the tragedies these people all spoke of a God they trusted, who they believed loved them and would provide for them. I may pay lip service to such a God but I do believe that very few of us in the West know this God as these people did. They know God and trust Him more than I could ever hope to, as I sit wrapped in selfishness and obsessed with temporary fleeting pleasures.
We prayed with the people we met and spoke of how they were our brothers and sisters, and how people at home were praying, and would pray all the more so when they heard their stories. Each of them are brothers and sisters and none deserve to be pitied, as this implies a looking down from above to those below. They were not below us, in matters of faith and community they were light years above any of us. They were dignifed and I can truely say I saw God there. While I reacted with despair at times, God was there with those people. While praying, the faith and hope of those people was a witness I cannot forget. And I pray I will not. I know not what else to say.
Much more happened, but I cannot find the heart to say more. The journey home was a blur. A man attempted to rob me in Goma. The dust from the city made the sky appear as dusk. We arrived back at the border only to find that our visa apparantly did not apply beyond that day and if we tried to re-enter we would have to again pay $50. Not having the money to fund this corruption this appears to be our one and only visit to the Congo for now.
On entry to Gisenyi in Rwanda I was struck again by the beauty of the place. Villas line the lake shore and there are many white people visiting as tourists, with many hotels and beaches scattered throughout the idyllic setting. This only a mile from a situation fo poverty and stories that would shatter anyone's heart. After the dire situation we had left it was like passing from hell to heaven. But on reflection I was wrong. God was more evident in the refugee camp than he ever was in the comfort of Gisenyi.
And hope. What can I ever say? Having been in Rwanda now for a while I am struck by how amazing the place is. Bearing in mind the horrific monstrous tragedies of 1994 and the genocide here, the land of Rwanda is nothing short of a miracle. The infrastructure is amazing and the city of Kigale is more advanced than parts of Belfast (I say without scarcasm). And the greatest miracle is the people. The people we have talked to see themselves as one. Hutus dwell alongside Tutsis in peace and forgiveness. Love has conquered over hatred. The healing is beyond my comprehension, and what has happened in Rwanda, at least to me as a simple uninformed observer, is truly an act of God.
There is still a long way to go. But the situation here is more than I could ever have dreamt of, and is a challenge to us at home in Norn Iron. That God could work so powerfully in such a dire situation as the genocide and its aftermath is a source of hope I am failing to convey. I sincerely believe that the prayer that has been poured on this country from outside and within has had an answer both in heaven and on earth.
And this can happen in the Congo. Just as anyone looking at Rwanda after 1994 may have not seen any hope for the future or the people of the country, a similar situation brews within the Congo now. Currently I cannot see how peace could ever dwell there. The problems are too endemic and complex, and the divisions and hatred too deep. Or at least they appear so to me.
But we serve a God who can do more than we can possibly ask or imagine. A God who can heal broken hearts and set the prisoners free. A God who asks us to declare the year of the LORD's favour. And I believe He is calling us to pray for the Congo so that a healing we cannot envision can begin to happen within 'Africa's Broken Heart'. He is calling His people, will we answer?
The people we met are our brothers and sisters and are as special and unique as any one of us. They hope and pray for a miracle, and we must do the same. Zacchaeus, Jaqui, Davos, Susanna and the many others need and want and expect our prayers. I often complain that there is nothing I can do (incidentally a lie from the pits of hell), but this is one thing we can do. Just as healing has come in may ways to Rwanda, that same river of grace and love can flow through the Democratic Republic of the Congo to heal and change the future of a people. A belief in a miracle may cause the mighty and powerful in this world to scoff, but we are called to hope, weep, rejoice and pray with our brothers and sisters here in Africa. Cynicism is the ideology of the dead. God can and will move. The question is, will we?
Let me begin by apologising for the length. Anyone who know me is aware I was not given any gift of brevity by God. Or spelling for that matter. This week has been one of the hardest and most amazing I have ever had. I have seen despair and hope in the same moment and am still waiting for my thoughts to crystallise. I still need to think, but part of me needs to type to share the story of those we have met. Suffice to say this week we have been in and returned from the Congo, and I am currently typing amidst the malestrom of thoughts and emotions spiralling through my skull.
On Thursday we got a bus from Kigale to Gisenyi at the border with the Congo, and went to border control. The walk down was beautiful (Gisenyi is a stunning place, look it up on Google, the beauty at the cusp of Lake Kivu is stunning) and we exited Rwanda easily to stand on no-mans land between Rwanda and the Congo.
And here is where the problems began. A 90-day visa is meant to cost $35 but it was soon to become apparant that the Congo operates under very different rules from the rest of the world on this regard. After being shuffled into a small back office inside the border office and asked many questions in French (needless to say I had no idea what was going on!!!), the situation revealed itself to be slightly different from our plans. While I am still unsure what exactly was said by the border guards to us, we found that it would cost us $50 for 1n 8-day visa. You don't argue with guards holding several Kalashnikovs. Needless to say the extra money handed over never reached the register in the next room.
We now entered Goma, a city you may remember from the tail end of last year when the outside world finally roused itself from its apathy towards Africa to look to the Congo and see the tragic horrors that were unfolding there. To put it simply a rebel group led by Nkunda was moving and commiting many atrocities of mass rape and murder and was now outside Goma and was threatening to take the city. Many in the path of the rebels were fleeing to Goma and the situation remained precarious. Ultimately the news was to pass from our newspapers after we shook our heads and commented on how awful the situation was, before flicking to the business section to observe how our stocks had risen and fallen in the economic downturn (this is hardly a new point, but the criticism remains real even as I am aware I follow exactly the same patterns everyday I hear of tragedies in the world. Just because we all do it does not make it anymore acceptable).
The 'news' remained very real in Goma long after we had forgotten about such far-away matters. Ultimately Nkunda was captured by Rwandan forces but the situation remains volatile. It is not my place to even begin to comment on the Congo's history and situation, but suffice to say it is a potentially rich country the size of Western Europe, ripped and torn to shreds by cpuntless militias and war-lords. There is a reason it has been referred to as 'Africa's Broken Heart'. To put it simply, with many rebel groups active in the Congo as well as government forces who actively partipate in mass murder, torture and rape as legitimate weapons of war and control, the population in rural areas of the Congo, especially in the eastern provinces of late, have fled to the cities. Goma is one such city.
In Goma we grabbed a ride on a boda-boda (motorbike) and hung on for dear life while taking in everything around us. There was volcanic dust everywhere (a local volcano erupted and flowed through Goma in 2002), as well as soldiers striding through the streets. We saw no other white people (or 'musungos' for those in the know) there, bar the few UN peacekeeping patrols we saw. On the bike I heard a helicopter and looked up to see an attack helicopter flying over. What really struck me was that this did not even register with the people of the city, who went on with their everyday business, obviously used to living within the shadow of war.
Our destination? One of the many refugee camps at the edge of the city. As I type I simply don't know what to say, but I have promised some people I would blog, and I strongly feel that the story of those people that we met at this camp needs to be told.
The children were amazing. They were my first impression when we arrived, as they swarmed around us and jumped and danced with us, all trying to grap our hands. They were beautiful. Many of them had bellies swollen through malnutrition yet their smiles shone out and spoke to each of us more than a thousand words could (which seems to be what I am trying to do here). Their eyes had probably seen worse things than I could ever comprehend, yet still they smiled and put each of us to shame.
Because we were with the kids I was not aware of where our steps were taking us until I realised we were in the middle of the camp. It was horrific. Countless small tarpaulin tents spread over a comparatively small area, yet within this area dwelt 8000 refugees, with new numbers arriving everyday. The toilets were filled to capacity. There was no food. Many of the tents did not have coverings. And here is where people had to live.
We talked to many of the people dwelling there. The stories would have broken your heart. Most of the people were women, with their husbands butchered in the fighting. Many had lost several (one person all) of their children. One family we saw consisted of a mother with six children, the same as my own family. The vital difference is that unlike my family which lives in a two-storey house, all the members of this family lived and dwelt in a tarpaulin tent about a quarter of the size of any of the rooms in my own home. And they slept on rocks and straw.
One man called Zaccheaus whom we talked to had lost all of his family in the fighing, his wife and all of his children. He himself had been left for dead in the depths of the Congo. The scars he showed us on his back told their own story.
One woman named Davos could not talk of what had happened to her, and one of her daughters who clung to her had apparanlty not spoken in 6 months since she had seen things no human should ever have to see.
Another family did not have a cover for the sticks underneath which they lived. When it rained they shivered as the water poured over their bodies,a nd when the sun shone they baked int he heat.
The stories are as numerous as the individuals. I see no point in continuing. Put simply there was no food coming, and the kids often would rummage through the rubbish to find anything salvagable for a meal. They all wanted to return home but did not know when this would ever be possible. I felt despair gnawing at my soul, as I was fully aware there was nothing we could say to these people. What could we say? What hope could we bring? How could we pampered white people ever bring into situations we could never understand?
It appeared I was wrong. Inspite of the tragedies these people all spoke of a God they trusted, who they believed loved them and would provide for them. I may pay lip service to such a God but I do believe that very few of us in the West know this God as these people did. They know God and trust Him more than I could ever hope to, as I sit wrapped in selfishness and obsessed with temporary fleeting pleasures.
We prayed with the people we met and spoke of how they were our brothers and sisters, and how people at home were praying, and would pray all the more so when they heard their stories. Each of them are brothers and sisters and none deserve to be pitied, as this implies a looking down from above to those below. They were not below us, in matters of faith and community they were light years above any of us. They were dignifed and I can truely say I saw God there. While I reacted with despair at times, God was there with those people. While praying, the faith and hope of those people was a witness I cannot forget. And I pray I will not. I know not what else to say.
Much more happened, but I cannot find the heart to say more. The journey home was a blur. A man attempted to rob me in Goma. The dust from the city made the sky appear as dusk. We arrived back at the border only to find that our visa apparantly did not apply beyond that day and if we tried to re-enter we would have to again pay $50. Not having the money to fund this corruption this appears to be our one and only visit to the Congo for now.
On entry to Gisenyi in Rwanda I was struck again by the beauty of the place. Villas line the lake shore and there are many white people visiting as tourists, with many hotels and beaches scattered throughout the idyllic setting. This only a mile from a situation fo poverty and stories that would shatter anyone's heart. After the dire situation we had left it was like passing from hell to heaven. But on reflection I was wrong. God was more evident in the refugee camp than he ever was in the comfort of Gisenyi.
And hope. What can I ever say? Having been in Rwanda now for a while I am struck by how amazing the place is. Bearing in mind the horrific monstrous tragedies of 1994 and the genocide here, the land of Rwanda is nothing short of a miracle. The infrastructure is amazing and the city of Kigale is more advanced than parts of Belfast (I say without scarcasm). And the greatest miracle is the people. The people we have talked to see themselves as one. Hutus dwell alongside Tutsis in peace and forgiveness. Love has conquered over hatred. The healing is beyond my comprehension, and what has happened in Rwanda, at least to me as a simple uninformed observer, is truly an act of God.
There is still a long way to go. But the situation here is more than I could ever have dreamt of, and is a challenge to us at home in Norn Iron. That God could work so powerfully in such a dire situation as the genocide and its aftermath is a source of hope I am failing to convey. I sincerely believe that the prayer that has been poured on this country from outside and within has had an answer both in heaven and on earth.
And this can happen in the Congo. Just as anyone looking at Rwanda after 1994 may have not seen any hope for the future or the people of the country, a similar situation brews within the Congo now. Currently I cannot see how peace could ever dwell there. The problems are too endemic and complex, and the divisions and hatred too deep. Or at least they appear so to me.
But we serve a God who can do more than we can possibly ask or imagine. A God who can heal broken hearts and set the prisoners free. A God who asks us to declare the year of the LORD's favour. And I believe He is calling us to pray for the Congo so that a healing we cannot envision can begin to happen within 'Africa's Broken Heart'. He is calling His people, will we answer?
The people we met are our brothers and sisters and are as special and unique as any one of us. They hope and pray for a miracle, and we must do the same. Zacchaeus, Jaqui, Davos, Susanna and the many others need and want and expect our prayers. I often complain that there is nothing I can do (incidentally a lie from the pits of hell), but this is one thing we can do. Just as healing has come in may ways to Rwanda, that same river of grace and love can flow through the Democratic Republic of the Congo to heal and change the future of a people. A belief in a miracle may cause the mighty and powerful in this world to scoff, but we are called to hope, weep, rejoice and pray with our brothers and sisters here in Africa. Cynicism is the ideology of the dead. God can and will move. The question is, will we?
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